by Anna Denisch
Genre: Alternate Historical LGBTQ Romance
A heart-warming and entertaining poly romance story about marriage bonds, friendship, and the endless supply of love we all carry in our hearts.
According to the rumors, Ainsley is a prostitute. To escape the meddling ways of their families, Ainsley and his husband Graham move to a new town where they hope to find peace. Ainsley spends his days worrying if Graham's decision to marry him was the right one, and he is devoted to giving Graham the life he deserves.
Andrew Croften has never been one to settle down, despite how desperately he seeks companionship. His romantic life is a series of half-flung flings that earned him the title of 'home wrecker' and his professional life is haunted by his long-term bully. But when he visits his friends' party and meets the charming and adorable Ainsley, he devises a plan to steal him away from his husband.
Yet Croften finds himself drawing closer to Graham as well, especially as Graham's brother and Croften's bully are intent on causing chaos in their lives. Perhaps three heads (or rather hearts) are better than two
Devotion Excerpts
1)
“Here,” he said, slowing to a walk and grabbing Graham’s wrist. “Let me see it.”
Graham looked sick. His hand shook as he let Croften uncover it. Fuck. His thumb was purple and swollen.
“Yeah,” Croften said. “That’s broken.”
He started leading them towards the doctor’s office. Graham was unusually pale. He was still biting his lip, and he refused to look up. Croften figured it probably hurt. He had broken his toe once as a kid. It never did set properly (part of why he walked like that), and it had hurt like hell. He had to give props to Graham. Croften had cried for a solid hour.
They had to wait for the doctor to see them, of course. They were given a small bag of ice and told to sit down and just wait. Graham didn’t fight it as Croften continued to hold the injured hand, pressing the ice to it firmly. He winced once, but that was all. He still didn’t look at him.
Croften was perfectly content to sit there in silence. For all of two minutes. “So, uh, you never learned to punch, huh?” Graham did not respond. One the plus side, Croften wasn’t really as afraid of being murdered by a guy who didn’t know how to punch.
“What are you gonna tell Ainsley?” He didn’t exactly want Ainsley to know the truth. Mainly because he was afraid he’d go talk to Henri and things would just get more out of hand. Graham remained silent.
“Hurt that bad huh?” He figured Graham was just concentrating on not yelling out or crying. A noble goal. Still nothing.
Well, as long as he wasn’t going to be talking…
“Thanks,” Croften said. Graham didn’t speak, but he did finally look up at him. Croften looked down at the hand he was holding. He didn’t notice how smooth Graham's hands were before. And warm, despite the ice on the knuckles. “No one’s...uh...no one’s ever done something like that for me before.”
He could feel himself blushing and it was stupid. Graham was the enemy. He was the block in the road that led to Ainsley. He shouldn’t be thanking him. He shouldn’t be drawn to the warmth his body radiated.
“You are worth more than you think,” Graham said, his voice soft and quiet. Croften pretended not to hear him.
2)
The floor creaked under his toe, Croften wincing as the rest of his foot followed the step. He tensed, waiting. He heard heels clicking their way towards him. His eyes glanced to the nearest door and he rushed inside. To the library. To where Ursula was standing at a shelf. Holding a book in her hand.
Shit.
“You!”
Croften turned to race out of the room but Mara was approaching, blocking his exit. He grimaced and ran further into the room. His only option. Ursula chased after him, brandishing the book like a weapon. She managed to catch up, hitting him with the book as he tried to get away.
“You idiot!” Smack. “You big dumb idiot!” Smack. Smack. “What is your problem?” Smack.
Croften had let himself get cornered, falling backward onto the couch his only saving hope for getting away. He didn’t. Ursula fell on top of him, straddling him so he couldn’t get up, continuing to hit him with the book. Thankfully it wasn’t a terribly large one.
“You are so stupid!” Smack. “I can’t believe it!” Smack. “Do you have brain damage?”
Croften brought his arms up to protect himself from the onslaught. “I might if you keep hitting me!”
Ursula stopped, breathing hard above him. She lowered her arms, book resting at the side. “What is wrong with you?”
He didn’t know. He hazarded a, probably correct, guess. “I wasn’t held enough as a child?”
Ursula’s face scrunched up and she started hitting him again. Thankfully she only managed to get a few swats in before Mara grabbed her around the waist, pulling her away.
“What were you thinking, Croften?” Mara asked, continuing to hold her wife, who struggled slightly at her constant need to be hitting him.
Croften shrugged, letting himself sit up. “I wasn’t.”
“You had to be thinking something. I mean, why would you do that? What did you hope to accomplish?”
Croften frowned. “I just wanted…” I wanted to know what it was like. I wanted to let Ainsley know that I liked him. That I loved him. I wanted to show him how it could be, with me. How better his life would be. How good we could be together. He sighed, deflating against the couch. “I just wanted to mess with Graham was all.”
Mara shook her head and released Ursula, who was on him in a minute.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she said, hitting him three more times for good measure. Then she seemed to tire of it, putting the book down and walking away.
3)
“Croften, Croften, Croften.”
The voice sent a terrible shiver down Croften’s spine. He turned around, disgust on his face.
“Henri,” he said. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Could ask you the same thing,” Henri said. And what the heck was he wearing? It was some kind of suit but wrong. Like he was trying to be fashionable but had hired a two-bit tailor to copy a design.
Léon was there too, of course. The two were damn-near inseparable. They were holding hands. “Henri’s been commissioned by the mayor,” Léon said, proud smile on his face. “They just announced it.”
Croften’s mouth fell open.
“Don’t act so surprised, Croften,” Henri said. “What did you expect? You could just waste your time away doing caricatures and expect to get to my level?”
Croften closed his mouth, scowling instead. I do more than caricatures, Croften thought. But he didn’t say it. It wouldn’t mean anything. “What were you commissioned for? Oh, oh, wait! Let me guess. He wants you to paint the trash? That is all you paint, after all.”
Léon took a step forward, squinting at Croften. “You can insult him all you want, Croften. But he’s better than you and you know it! Besides.” Léon smiled, a real sickening sight. “He’s not a trollop.”
“Trollop?” Croften said. “Really? That’s the best you’ve got?”
“Henri is faithful.” Léon stepped back, rubbing Henri’s arm. “Something you would never understand.”
Croften scoffed. “Faithful cause he hasn’t gotten caught.”
Léon’s face fell.
“Come on,” Henri said. “No need to waste our time on this filth!” Henri spat at him, literally spat at him, and walked away.
Croften stared at the mucus spot on the ground by his feet. Great. He was stuck in this town doing all of this work, and Henri had already scored the commission. He considered just canceling everything and going home. And he would have. Except he was working for Ainsley. And he could never cancel on him.
Anna Denisch was born and raised just outside of Baltimore City, but she has never called it home. When not traveling around the world or daydreaming about dragons, she spends her time looking at books she wants to read without actually touching them. She received her M.F.A in Creative and Professional Writing from Western Connecticut State University and considers daily if she is just insane enough to take her family’s sometime suggestion of getting a PhD.
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